Part two of “What Bloggers Do” is over at the SB with Mottram and Shanoff kicking in, as well. Tipsters, ripsters, and zipsters: it’s the new tripartite catchphrase.
Remember one thing. If we learned anything from all of this, it is that angry words only hurt. Angry dancing, though, heals us all.
Shantih to you all.
We don’t know who that guy is, but he peed on the sliding glass door at our party, and we had to kick him out. He drank the last Pearl Beer out of the fridge and then tried to stick his hand down your girlfriend’s pants. He just got out, but not of the army, if you know what I mean. He told those guys at Lowe’s they could keep their fucking job, dude. He went to the Bullet Boys concert and it was awesome, especially the part where he got a blowjob in a port-o-let. His credit sucks. He wants you to co-sign a car loan, and you know he’s good for it because you bought weed from him and he gave you the dankest of the dank in return.
He’s that guy, and he wishes you a happy Mustache Wednesday, motherfuckers!
Nick Saban: Hey, Urb.
Urban Meyer: Yeah, Nick.
Nick: Hungry?
Urban: For victory.
(They laugh heartily and give each other the hand-to-elbow Beastmaster gladiator handshake.)
Nick: No, really. Want a snack?
Urban: Sure, Nick. That’s nice of you.
Nick: No problem. Just check in that basket down there.
Urban: Okay, whatcha got in there—
Colt, you think you lost money? Au contraire. You calculate your loss as $1,378,500 over three years, amounting to a little under 500K a year to live in Hawaii–and you still got signed to the NFL afterwards. That. Is. Nothing.
Oh, poor you, Colt.
I read the stories: you learned Samoan, did funky shit with your hair. (more…)
Ever heard of Jeremiah Wright? He’s the Muslim preacher who taught Obama about raising the capital gains tax to 75% in order to fund gay weddings and DESTROY THIS COUNTRY. He hates America, too.
He has many stupid things to say, and this includes interesting facts about marching bands, too! Watch his insightful take on marching bands as excerpted by the Colbert Report. White ones do it like this NAH DINK NAH DINK NAH! Black ones be like this OOM CHA CHA BOOM CHA CHA BOOM!
Never mind that FAMU’s every bit as precise as a major standard “European” style marching band, and that their practice sessions are less band rehearsals than football drills. They’re black, so they don’t worry about your whiteass precision. Because this all looks so, so sloppily done: (more…)
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The obstruction shall not be televised. Today’s the last chance to change anything with the BCS in their meetings in Florida today, and no one will, even though Mike Slive will propose the plus-one scenario today. It’s not that Jim Delany is the only one opposing change: he’s just enough of a public asshole to enjoy rubbing it in the faces of anyone caring to watch. In an insightful and impressive display of arrogance during Tuesday’s BCS meetings, Delany left little doubt who’s the pit bull and who’s the Chihuahua when it comes to the college football postseason.
Never mind. We don’t need a playoff, actually, because we already have a champion with two losses under the current design. (Ducks thrown iron kettle filled with jambalaya.) Speaking of thrown objects……the Orgeron’s departure left Ole Miss coaches looking for work, including Art Kehoe, whose longest jobless stint prior to this was two hours out of 26 years. Welcome to the job. Washington State gets done et by the penalties of a low APR. Paul Wulff, welcome to the wonderful world of big league nanny-coaching! The Army’s okay with Caleb Campbell leaving to play in the NFL, and has made allowances for him by having him work as a recruiter in the off-season, among other duties. Campbell’s not deserting his post, but we do wonder if the Army has equal tolerance for someone who, for example, pulls down a sweet job as a patent attorney just after they complete their training. Petty theft, dismissed. On Preston Parker of FSU, who still faces a serious gun charge. Taking bets on what the $9.99 DVD was: our money’s on Silkwood. |
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Buzz Bissinger just ripped on bloggers, including Will Leitch, who had to sit there and take it because, once angered, no amount of reason would get through to the guy who wrote Friday Night Lights.
Bissinger has no idea what blogs are about, though he may claim to. So in short, for the record, we thought we might state for the record a.) who a blogger might be, and b.) what blogging does. Ready? We’ll keep this short.(For an epic poem or Supreme Court ruling–ed.)
A. Who a Blogger Might Be, or in this case, me.
My desk: taste the glamour.
DURR-HURR! GUY WHO LIVES IN MOM’S BASEMENT DURR!!! Untrue. We know of only one one blogger who lives in Mom’s basement, and that makes him just like Mike Lupica, doesn’t it? (Mom! Meatloaf and the Mets game on in five! MOM!) The bloggers we know best do the following;
1. Will Leitch. Full-time writer. Lots of people read him. Not mom’s basement on the address.
2. Matt Ufford. Ditto, and ditto. Has roommates, I think, but still. Oh, and COMMANDED A FUCKING TANK UNIT IN IRAQ. Buzz Bissinger went to Phillips Academy, a very dangerous place in its own right. They ride English saddles there! There’s not even a horn on it for stability!
3. Big Daddy Drew. Likewise, successful before becoming a sports blogger, and would be even if the medium didn’t come around.
4. The guys from Fire Joe Morgan. No idea what these men do, because they cover American Cricket, and I therefore don’t obsess enough about them to follow up. Fortunately, neither do mainstream journos, none of whom have inquired into blogger’s backgrounds before accusing them of living in Mom’s basement. I assume, judging from the brawny machinations of their writing, that they could presumably do other jobs quite successfully without going on the maternal dole.
5. Lawyers. Most post under pseudonyms, but these people make up the rank and file of the blogging world. Why? Because they are bored to tears by their jobs despite being creative, articulate, argumentative, and passionate people. Give a dam an outlet, and it’ll crack mountains into silt. That’s what lawyers are to the blogosphere. None of them live with their mothers, and many make more than the sportswriters who accuse them of living–yes–with Mom.
6. Me. Yep, I’ll go there. (more…)
In the wake of the NFL draft, we thought we’d do our own draft-themed show, albeit with a twist: extending the draft not only to college, but to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. (A store now closing forever, something we’d weep over if we ever bought single item at the place. Wait: garbage can, 2002.)
Our four questions for the evening are as follows:
1. Name the player for your team who, once “drafted” by your team, never really panned out. As a Florida fan, our list of signees who came and never blossomed into even the measliest of roses is long and distinguished. However, the pinnacle of disappointment came in a pair of Parade All-Americans destroyed slowly by the “performs best when entering with little talent or ego” Spurrier system: Bobby Sabelhaus and Tim Olmstead, the next Great Distributors in the Fun ‘n Gun who both bombed out of the program before doing so much as throwing a single wobbly fade to the corner.
Olmstead was merely immature, blowing off classes and refusing to learn the playbook before transferring to Vandy where he sat on the bench behind Greg Zolman. (Read that again. If that doesn’t sink in, well, read it again.) Poor Bobby Sabelhaus suffered a worse fate: he got depressed, got bipolar, and then got gone, transferring to West Virginia, and then finally to San Jose State. Just thinking about them makes us emo boy weepy sad.
2. Name the most overrated draft pick from your own school. Gerard “Big Money” Warren. What? The big fat guy who did nothing? Really? Are you interested in drafting my uncle, perhaps? He won’t even ask for a signing bonus, sir and sirrahs. Gerard Warren, on the other hand, will cost you the third pick in the first round of the 2001 draft and ultimately end up playing for the Raiders. (Butch Davis, draft genius, your fingerprints are all over this one.)
He does look intimidating riding off on an injury cart, though.
3. You get to draft a quality you lack into your life. Whatever: more patience, a horn in the middle of your forehead, or even the answer most of you will undoubtedly give, the all-consuming desire to have your huge, pavement dragging dick reduced to a more manageable size. Just answer the question and the puppy doesn’t get harmed.
For the record, we’d draft abs. Never had ‘em, never will. It would be nice to flaunt them for a month, and then bury then under a solid layer of merrily-added beer fat.
4. Draft something foreign into these United States of ours. We want Australia. The whole thing, fangs and all. Failing a continental transfer, we’ll just take its assortment of fanged/poisonous animals, since Florida seems too safe to us these days: no coke wars, no one slaughtering German tourists in Miami for sport, years since a decent hurricane.
Talk to you tonight, which you may do by clicking here or by simply hitting play on the Now Live Widget in the sidebar.
Them’s the numbers for the spring games, compiled by the guys at the Big Red Network who, understandably, are quite proud of the massive attendance for Pelini’s first spring outing. Insert jokes about “places with nothing to do” leading the list, though we’re wondering about Iowa State being so low on the list: shouldn’t more people have attended just to huddle for warmth? Chizik-nickels don’t buy as much kerosene as they used to, we guess.
[/basking in glorious spring sunshine]
Connecticut is extremely precise with their degrees of badness in the criminal code. Blame that on having daffy Yale law so close by–how else does one get “sixth-degree larceny,” a crime that seems just a hair off from “accepting a gift in an awkward fashion?” Whatever the hell “sixth-degree larceny” is, Connecticut cornerback Joshua Massey caught a case of it for taking exactly $31.34 worth of goods from the UConn co-op. We’re betting it was blades for his nine-bladed razor, the Gillette Agent Orange (”Deforesting Your Face Nine Lethal Goddamn Blades at a Time.”)
The Gillette Agent Orange: It’s Like Deforestation For Your Face.
One point for UConn, whose measly total doesn’t bring them close to the big board.
Perpetually fun Iowa tacks on a point for underage possession, and we don’t mean the Roger Clemens type of underage possession. Defensive tackle Cody Hundertmark broke through the guard of local criminal code and got his hands on some booze, but was charged with holding and fined with fifteen yards and an underage charge. One point for Iowa, though the good news is that they did not lose a player in the incident.
And finally…100 parking tickets for Sam Baker during his time at USC. As someone who parked their car everywhere on the Florida campus, up to and including a primo spot in the aisle of the Latin American History section of Library West, and kept himself warm on cold winter nights by burning piles of parking tickets, we only have this word: hero.
It is bad enough that Florida hasn’t won against Miami since 1985. Now Ms. “Oooh, Look at me I was head of Health and Human Services” is talking shit.
“We don’t admit thugs anymore. We do admit people that like to suntan, but those students are usually in the sun with a book in hand, and I think that’s a difference people overlook,” Shalala said. Right now UM is ranked at 52 and the University of Florida is ranked at 50, according to U.S. News & World Report. One of Shalala’s goals is to not only get into the top 50, but to do so before the football game in fall, so “UM can beat UF twice.”
OHHHH, IT IS ON BUREACRA-BITCH. Sure, you gave children access to health insurance with SChip, but Tim Tebow does not care about your puny bureaucratic accomplishments, nor your fine Ph.D from Syracuse University. We can take trash talk from the braided-up badasses from Miami Northwestern–respek, sirs–but yapping from a hobbit Clinton appointee? Warren Christopher gonna start some shit next, huh? (If so, Warren: Rwanda, asshole. Your bitch status=QEDMF.)
Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit, Donna. But now you made us call Bob Graham and Bill Nelson, two dudes who bring bike chains and mad krues to the fight. There wasn’t going to be blood, Donna, but now you gone and done it. Bernie Machen’s gonna be waiting at the fifty with a stapler and a sack of nails…and not even your canny welfare reforms will save you, then.
P.S. See Barstoolio’s entry for the RambutanShalala. Eerily similar.
Fools! Imbeciles! You dance like puppets on strings whilst I, THE ONE AND ONLY LIMAS SWEED, prove my evil genius once again! Tie-er of maidens to railroad tracks, shadow emperor of the Philippine Islands and several provinces in Paraguay, inventor of the Hydraulic Dream Factory and The Tesla Coil Inverter-Weather-Controller, and internationally renowned rapscallion-at-large…I HAVE DONE IT AGAIN!
Limas Sweed: Dastardly Svengali, Impressario, Lothario, and Genius-ario.
After successfully laying incognito for years here in this unsuspecting bumpkin buffet of humanity called Austin, I have not only extorted HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS out of the government by threatening them with my Tesla Coil Inverter-Weather-Controller—see the ferocity of just one of my puniest creations, the cyclonic storm system that disrupted the SEC Basketball Tournament in Atlanta, formerly known as Terminus, for evidence thereof–I have conned the wealthy fatlings who run this sham of a country into paying me as a WIDE RECEIVER IN THE NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE!
This cover shall give me the freedom to only work six months of the year at most, freeing up my fecund brainbox so that it may pursue new and even more dastardly methods of expanding my ROGUE EMPIRE.
Mu-HA!
MUHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHA!!!!
When I’m not hauling in passes adhered to my hands with my fantastickal Electromagnetic Gecko Hand Stick-o-Mittens or outrunning defensive backs with my Flubber-Jet-Jackboots, I shall be in my laboratory, devising new and even more maniacal methods of bleeding the beast we call authority with my mind-daggers. Quake at mere hints of what is to come!
The Celestial Sky-Tie! A railroad floating in the sky, so that I may tie maidens to tracks lying not just in the path of trains, but also in the direct line of flight of a fearsome biplane!
The Frame-jumping Motion-Stutter Comical Discombobulator! Uses the forces of molecular hilarity to take any group of uniformed policemen and make them run at what appears to be twice their normal speed. Also makes them unusually clumsy and prone to running in one group, so that any turn around a corner turns into a comedy and a dastardly getaway! HAHAHAHAHHA!
A really superb egg-slicer. I’m planning on selling it on late-night television. It’s not one of my more dastardly projects, but people seem to buy them…um… IN A MOST DASTARDLY WAY, OF COURSE!!!
I’d like to crow longer, but a rogue’s work is never done. The authorities are coming after me. Now! To flee in my hot-air balloon before they capture me and exile me to Devil’s Island, which I’ve once escaped from, and shall do again if necessary!
Fly, my beautiful air-chariot! Hie me to higher ground so that I might continue my villainous ways before fresh, virgin eyes unsuspecting of my true nature. Quickly, into the basket, Ribbons! What is a rogue without his pet Orang-U-Tang? A lonely evil genius, indeed!
SEE YOU NEXT TIME, LEGAL EAGLES! To the pain, crusaders! TO THE PAIN!!! You’ll ne’er cage this wily raven, do-gooders!
Yours sincerely,
LIMAS SWEED, ESQ.
Dastardly Genius and Citizen of the Sweedian Empire of the Leyte Gulf and Oriental Mindoro
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Yeah, sure, you were about to say something. But fuck that shit: IT’S MARIO KART FOR THE WII, MOTHERFUCKERS!!! More violent that GTA IV. And the roadside hookers in Mario Kart? Far more alluring than the meth-hounds you bang in GTA, especially because they’re Japanese, and therefore disturbingly kinky and capable of morphing into blue tentacled fuckbeasts at any time. Perhaps Columbia has an open date on their schedule. Notre Dame, rebuffed by Rutgers in an attempt to move their proposed six game series to the Meadowlands for “home” games for the Scarlet Knights, makes the New York Times sassy. And we warned you: you won’t like them when they’re sassy. How humble of Notre Dame to have visited Ronald Reagan in the Rose Garden at the White House on Jan. 18, 1989, resisting all temptation to call for a meeting at a neutral site more to its grandiose liking. Ooooooh, Notre Dame you got done EXTERMINGUISHINFLAMMANATED by that one! The writer also points out Notre Dame has lots of fans in the northeast, explaining why the Irish may be making eyes at Syracuse for a new series, presumably played in a custom blue and gold painted Carrier Dome with the Irish spotted seven points to start in the first quarters. (Against Syracuse’s offense, that might do it.) We’d like to tell you that you can start immediately. Because here at UCLA, our quarterbacks should have had their knees injured in a plane crash, see, but they never got on the plane, and now the Ghost of Knee Death is stalking them all. Seriously: please come to school early. Laters, Rick Neuheisel. (Apologies: that’s COACH Rick Neuheisel, until he loses eight games.–ed.) It’s like Georgia Tech, but with the possibility of having sex as an undergrad. Taylor Bennett, last year’s starter at qb for the Yellow Jackets, transfers to Louisiana Tech. Paul Johnson is looking like a coach with extraordinarily blunt player relations skills, and we don’t mean that in a bad way: “He told me what his plan was and where I fit in and what he saw me doing and that didn’t look like something I was interested in,” Bennett said. “I thank him for being honest with me.” “Son, you cain’t run. And you cain’t pass. And I plan on runnin’, and sometimes passin’.” “Ruston it is, then!” Roll, Tide! As in, “please, Tide, roll the urine the young lady just deposited in the Gulf away from my feet.” |
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The immortal Irons Brothers of Auburn, proving that math at Auburn is challenging indeed:
“90 plus 30 doesn’t add up.”
“For real?”
(HT: Ted Turner.)
This week’s update brought to you Brian, who as ever is hung like Reggie F’n Nelson. Clarifications, whining, and other bloggy-type questions await.
A slow week on the big board overall, presumably thanks to end-of-semester hecticness and a lack of spring-break style foolishness going on around the college world. We’d like to think this commanding lead in the Fulmer Cup standings means Missouri finally gets one shining moment all to itself. Unfortunately for them, Kansas fans have documented a number of shining moments in the history of Missouri athletics.
(HT: PeteJayhawk.)
If someone’s interested in putting this together for Florida State, we’d be thrilled kthxok?
We’re past the halfway point, meaning there’s good news: you’re more than halfway to next college football season. We’ll wait for you.
Okay, now that you’ve kicked the front out of your desk in excitement, deep breaths. We still have a long summer to go, meaning we’ll give odds on upcoming crimes we’ll undoubtedly see over the next four months in the Cup.
30/1: Arson. A coveted charge for the collector, and usually one started not in a pyromaniacal way, either, but rather with fireworks, alcohol, and a moment of weakness when you let the Imp of the Perverse grab the wheel and steer. Leading suspect: Auburn. Middle of nowhere, drought conditions, and plenty of nuke-powerful fireworks to be had. When you see the smoke and a pickup truck fleeing a burning forest, you’ll know what happened.
17/1: Counterfeiting. As long as Ryan Perrilloux is in this cup, this bet stays on the board. Leading prospect: LSU. Because it’s Louisiana. More said would be wasted words.
6/1: FnDC. The classic, and one we haven’t seen much of as yet. Fightin’ ‘n Da Club is a summer hit just waiting to happen, and when it does, the points rack up fast and furious. Leading suspects: Miami or Florida. If Miami gets involved in a fight in public, they will win nine games this season. If not, they win five.
3/1: DUI. The trusty CD in Fulmer Cup investments. Leading suspects: Tennessee. If the Vols claw their way back into the race, it will come by falling out of a car in full sight of a dashboard camera. We blame the state: we’ve never lived in a place where DUI was more commonly accepted as something that “just happened” when you were young, much like acne or wearing a regrettable button-down patterned shirt.
How will Ryan Perrilloux finish the season?
Total Voters: 1,485
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Orson Swindle and Stranko Montana are two men pushing thirty who should know better than to run a college football blog, but evidently don't. Both graduated from the University of Florida, and both agree that college football is far too important to be left to the professionals.
Comments? Questions? Long strings of profanities directed at something we said? Please send your comments to harumphharumph -a- yahoo -dot- com. Please direct all tailgating photos and stories to edsbsfans -a- gmail -dot- com.
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